Addressing the Taboo
By Nikki. Filed in Uncategorized |
I wrote the following about a week ago, but decided to wait to post it. To be honest, I wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. I tried to write an honest post about what the grief is like. After I wrote it, I thought, “if I post this people will think I’m losing it.” So I sat on it for a while.
I kept thinking about the post and wondering if other people felt hesitant to articulate what their grief was like to friends and family. It does seem to be a taboo subject in our world and I think that it might be even more taboo to talk about the grief when it is a child who has died. People who are concerned about the grieving person are afraid they will make it worse by talking about it; and grieving people think they will make others uncomfortable if they confess how sad they really feel.
So, I have decided to post what I have written. If for no other reason than to share my experience with those of you who carry your own grief. I figure that there are a lot of people out there who have lost people that they loved very much and my hope is that what I have written below will resonate with your soul.
Please know that Daniel and I both are walking this journey the best way we know how. Most of the time, we are dealing really well and it seems that when one of us needs a little break from reality, the other can step up and be a support. We are so grateful for all of the loving support we have received and we know that we could not be managing as well as we are without it.
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Confession: Grief is hard. Anyone who has walked its road will attest to this fact. No day is the same. Sometimes I wake up feeling fine and other days I wake up and immediately want to go back to sleep so I don’t have to face the day. Some days I go almost the whole day without crying, but on most days, I loose count of how many times I cry.
Grief is emotional. I feel sad most of the time, but occasionally I will feel angry. When I feel angry, I am frustrated because it doesn’t feel like it has anywhere to go. I’m not angry at anyone in particular, just the circumstances. Then, I realize that I’m to tired to be angry, and it kind of dissolves away and gives way to more sadness…absolutely overwhelming and heavy sadness.
Grief is physical. More than angry, even more than sad, I feel tired. I have been a little surprised by how incredibly exhausted I have been. When I am able to sleep, it is a deep, deep sleep. I am always grateful for sleep and I never feel like I get enough of it. tired. My body is tired and sometimes it aches because it is so tired. Each day, I have a list of things that I want to get done and not yet have I finished everything on my list in a day. Usually, I get one thing done and that is all I have the energy for. Some days, I get none of it done, because it is all I can do to give Natalie the attention she needs. She is my top priority each day.
Grief is mental. I can be in the middle of an activity and completely forget what I was doing. If someone asks me if a prefer this or that, I become paralyzed to answer. Every decision, even the little ones, like what I’m going to wear or eat, feel overwhelmingly difficult to make. Sometimes it just feels like the world is moving way to fast and that it is too loud. Any stimulation is to much right now. When the world feels like too much, I seem to check out because I cannot take it all in right now.
Everything about it is hard. And most of the time, I wish it would just stop.
But I can’t. I cannot skip it, I cannot go around it or over it or under it. All I can do is walk through it. Everyone says that eventually it does get easier; that one day, I will be able to dress myself without feeling overwhelmed; that one day, I will be able to make be able to decide what to feed my daughter without feeling like I am moving a mountain; that one day, I will have the energy to accomplish all the things I want to accomplish in a day; that one day, I will not walk around all day wondering what it was that I was doing; that one day, I will feel mostly like myself again.
But the ache…no one has said that one day, it won’t ache. It seems I get to keep that part the rest of my life. I think that one day, it will ease a little, but I now live on the after side of loosing my child. There was this part of my life that was before we lost Aiden. And now there is this part of my life that is after. So much of the after is different from the before. But, it’s not all bad. Well, right now, most of it is really bad…most of it hurts more than I can describe. But, I do think that there are things that will become more positive as time goes on. The only reason I think this is because I have known other people who have lost children and they have had good things emerge out of the tragedy that it is. I imagine that these people would give all of the good back, if they got to get their children back; I know I would. But that is not how life works. For now, we have to figure out how to live this life that we have been given. We have to figure out how to move forward…or for me right now, not fall backwards. Right now, I’ll take holding steady. I’ll work on moving forward a little later.
So, this is grief. It is hard and messy and frustrating and I’d rather not do it. But here we are doing the best we can with it, and trying to find the good in it.
Tags: Aiden, Aiden John, grief, Natalie
Wednesday, January 20th 2010 at 10:44 pm |
Thank you, Nikki. You articulated that beautifully and truthfully. We wish we could take a little bit from you so that you wouldn’t hurt so badly, but unfortunately, we have to carry ours which is not nearly so acute and ever-present and leave yours with you. I’ve found in other situations that baring you soul like this can 1) help a little with the healing, 2) help others understand what you are experiencing to a greater degree (without totally being able to identify, and 3) perhaps most of all, help those who have tucked their grief, caused by whatever situation, inside because of the taboo to realize that they are not the only ones and that it is okay to take the risk and open up to others. So a few misguided people (even worse when they are judgmental Christians) may say to buck up and get over it or spout some platitudes oraccuse you of having a lack of faith if you aren’t “strong and victorious”, but Christ himself grieved and it is okay for you, too.
You have our prayers, hugs and any help we can give. We do plan to be back down there before we head back to Guatemala. Much love. Helen/Mom
Wednesday, January 20th 2010 at 10:49 pm |
Nikki,
You constantly amaze me with your strength and the ability to work through your pain. You are my hero. Most of us can only be the wind beneath your wings. Your strengths and gifts are many. I pray that you and Daniel may have more peace, time, and strength to help move you forward.
With Love,
Suzanne
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 8:14 am |
Nikki & Daniel
Thank you for sharing. You are an encouragement to us
and are in our prayers every day.
Blessings
bill & Merrill
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 10:27 am |
Oh, Nikki, I weep for you all. I have lost two special people in my life that I loved dearly: my grandfather, who died too young of complications from lung cancer, and my great-grandmother, who died in relief at the end of a long life and several months of illness and dementia. I carry them with me, but I think the grief is different. When I look at my daughters and allow myself to imagine losing one of them, and it takes my breath away. My stomach hurts, my heart beats faster, and I literally feel dizzy. I can’t comprehend it, and I don’t want to. No one should have to. I am so sorry that your days are forever changed and altered with this grief, which you have so poignantly described. I am glad you have the memory of your son moving around in your womb, glad you got to hold him and touch him, glad you got to say goodbye. But I figure it’s a bit surreal for you, waking each day and remembering instantly the great magnitude of what you have lost. I think of you all so often.
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 10:44 am |
Once again, I have no words…but please know that I think of you guys often and pray for you every day.
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 11:31 am |
I’m glad you posted that! I have known many of these things as I’m struggling with issues as well, BUT never could I have put it into words as you have done. Sadly, I don’t know if the ache ever decreases or if we just build callouses that help protect against some of the aching. I don’t know. I love you guys and glad to know I’m not the only one losing my mind! Love you!
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 12:00 pm |
I love you sweet sister (and sweet Uncle D and Nat)…. love you all so much. And I’m sorry that you know the ache and longing that you now do… There is absolutely nothing fair about it and I so wish that I could take it away for you.
I’m glad you have a list… don’t feel pressured to do it all in a a day though. There is no pressure there. Just get through these next days and weeks and months. Enjoy and soak up each other. You are each others’ best medicine right now. I know you are hurting. It will take a while to ease, but I do promise that at some point it does begin to ease. You’re right, the ache will never go away, but it will become much more manageable. It may happen subtly at first and you won’t even realize it. But at some point the constant sadness becomes more like waves and then, later, the waves begin to grow farther apart. They will still knock you over, but as more time passes, even that becomes a bit more manageable. I remember a friend of mine (Dayna — you remember Hayley) telling me that things would become more manageable. I remember having a hard time believing her, but clinging to her words b/c I was desperate to believe them. She was right, somehow things did get more manageable and the waves did get farther apart. Now I’m even learning to predict when most of them will come. You will learn your own grieving style and you will learn D’s.
And then one day, you will begin to feel more like yourself, though your “self” will be a bit different than it was before Aiden. In a lot of ways, as you heal, I think your grief becomes kind of a part of who you are — not in a sad, horrible kind of way, but in a beautiful, I loved greatly and lost kind of way. It becomes kind of like your sense of humor, it’s just a part of you. And yes, it is taboo in our society — a lot of people might think that it’s weird to think you might always be grieving, that you should grieve and get over it. But when life has changed so drastically as it has for you and D and Nat, I don’t think that’s so. Big loss leaves big holes and some holes can’t be filled up with something other than what was there to start with. I’ve always loved the quote from the movie It’s a Wonderful Life: “Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?” So you have a hole, and eventually your brain and your heart will make a way for you to live and grow around that hole. And there will be genuine laughter and joy again — just hold on for now and get through the moments and the hours and the days.
Hang in there… and lean on folks as you can. Know you are loved and that whatever you guys are feeling is probably normal. Be gentle with yourself and each other…
Loving you all (and thinking of the beach — come on Nat!!),
Jen
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 5:03 pm |
You speak reality so well, Nikki. I wish I could give you a hug right now. As hard and excruciating as this experience is for you, I’m amazed at your strength and your ability to rationalize everything. You all continue to be on my mind and in my prayers. Blessings to you all.
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 8:14 pm |
Jenny, articulation must run in your family! I’m sorry both you and Nikki have shared this loss. I can’t imagine the full impact you guys have faced but I hurt for you and with you in the only way I know and will help an encourage however you guys tell me will help because I have no clue!
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 10:00 pm |
You are not crazy! You are acutely attuned to the experience of grief. And you have a beautiful way with words. I’m not saying grief is a beautiful thing. It’s messy. And hard. But your honesty and the risk you took in posting your honest feelings will affirm someone who needed to hear just that. Thank you!
Wednesday, February 3rd 2010 at 6:56 pm |
Nikki & Daniel
During a difficult time years ago I read on a wall in a
youth room “Joy is not the absence of suffering but the
presence of God.” It continues to have meaning for me.
May it bless you’all also.
Bill